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Updated: May 20, 2025
She was drying her eyes, in an effort to regain her self-control, when someone knocked and immediately opened the door. Garrison turned. Dorothy had risen quickly to her feet. It was Theodore who stood in the doorway. He had come before Garrison's note could be delivered. "Come in," said Garrison. "You're just the man I wish to see."
And so Garrison's visit to the North was taken advantage of to test the disposition of Northern philanthropy to support such a paper. But what he found was a sad lack of interest in the slave. Everywhere he went he encountered what appeared to him to be the most monstrous indifference and apathy on the subject. The prejudices of the free States seemed to him stronger than were those of the South.
He was in time to greet his great spiritual kinsman, William Wilberforce, and to undeceive him in respect of the Colonization Society, before death claimed his body, and to follow him to his last resting-place by the side of Pitt and Fox, in Westminster Abbey. A highly interesting incident of this visit is best told in Mr. Garrison's own words.
The officers were put to ransom; the rest were slaughtered; even women were hanged. The dead numbered 600. Grey doubtless regarded the measure as a just return for the doings of the Inquisition, and the punishment of English sailors as pirates, for his retort to the garrison's overtures had been that their presence in Ireland was piracy.
Paying no heed to the malevolent glare in the Italian's eyes, Saxondale turned and bade a servant ask Miss Garrison to come down if it pleased her to do so. "I presume Brussels is very much excited over Miss Garrison's disappearance," said he to the livid-faced prince. "Brussels is horrified, but she will rejoice tomorrow. Thank God, we have not toiled in vain." "Sit down.
Then, with rapt eyes, he reread the lengthy missive from "Dolly." It had come in the morning mail and he had read it a dozen times. The reader is left to conjecture just what the letter contained. Mr. Garrison's thoughts were running something like this: "Lord, if my sister knew about you, Dolly, she'd have so many fits that you couldn't count them.
Garrison's hopes were slipping from him, one by one, and putting on their shrouds. "Did Mr. Hardy seem to be pleased with his niece's selection with Mr. Fairfax?" he inquired. "Or don't you know?" "Why, he never even seen the man," replied Mrs. Wilson. "It seems Mr.
She read antislavery tracts and copies of William Lloyd Garrison's Liberator, borrowed from Quaker friends; and on long winter evenings, as she sat by the fire sewing, she talked over with her father the issues they raised.
Garrison's bitter taunt that "the Union is but another name for the iron reign of the slave-power," was driven home to the North, by the Dred Scott decision, with the logic of another unanswerable fact.
And "Cottonton," led by a white-faced girl and a big, apoplectic turfman, were forgetting dignity, decorum, and conventionality as hand in hand they stormed through the surging eruption of humanity fighting to get a chance at little Billy Garrison's hand.
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